Silent Night
This is a strange little psychological horror story that I wrote a few months ago, but never posted it here. My Radio I don't understand the noise that my radio is making. It's a jumbled, messy sort of sound with occasional clips of human voice, or something very similar. There's a humming sound too, but I don't think the source of that is my radio. I don't know where the sound is coming from. I adjust the station, and a dark and loud tune hums out from the speakers, seeming to cause my very soul to vibrate with its low frequency. I turn off the radio, and the humming stays in my head. I'm slightly unsettled now, but I decide to turn on my television in hopes that I could draw my attention away from the uneasy noises. The TV screen is staying black, but it's starting to make a sound. It's a pretty tune sounding as if it came from a flute. I listen delightfully, although still unnerved, but then it changes. Now it's the same noise that my radio made. But now I hear a familiar tune. It's a chorus singing the song "Silent Night". I could be wrong, but that sounds like the song. I've had enough, so I switch my TV back off and decide to have a small snack before going to bed. It is, after all, nearly eleven o'clock. My fridge is a pitiful sight. Stack upon stack of food, but not orderly. Randomness rules in this frigid domain, so seeking out a meal isn't a matter of choice; it's a matter of grabbing the closest thing to me. Mozzarella sticks. That's all I have a taste for. They're left over, so I don't have to cook them. I munch down a few, and I feel drowsy. It's time for sleep. The humming is less prominent, and is fading now. Paper Clips In my fumbling clumsiness, I spilled paper clips all over my desk. I sigh, and just push them to the side. I'll clean them up later. I have too many things to do right now to focus on them. I reach for the computer mouse and freeze. What do I have to do? Now that I think about it, I don't have anything to do. I slump back in my chair and close my eyes momentarily. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes nearly become an hour, if not for the loud crack! sound that awakened me. Standing at the other side of my desk is Margaret, with a ruler in her hand. She's looking at me impatiently and tapping her foot on the ground. "Wake up and get to work, Inns," she says. The humming is back now, and I can focus only on that. Margaret's words, whatever they might have been, are lost to me. I stare at her blankly, and a scowl forms on her face. I wake up lying on the carpeted floor of my home, face on the floor. I sit up groggily, and notice that my hands are red. I still hear the humming, and my radio and TV are on and making the same glitched sounds as last night. There's a trail of paper clips leading down my hallway, and what appears to be rose petals. I wonder how they got there, so I'll follow them and see where they lead to. The humming is getting louder, and I hear occasional choppy sounds of Silent Night, but it's not coming from the radio or TV this time. I found the end of the paper clip trail. They lead to the guest room, which has never been used, as I have no acquaintances and probably never will. Oh... those aren't rose petals on the floor. Driving I like driving, especially when I need some time alone. At the office, I hear that Margaret has disappeared. No one knows where she is. That's... a shame. Right now I'm driving to my favorite place in the whole wide world -- nowhere. I drive and drive, all the time so I can avoid people talking to me too much. I don't like it when people talk to me lately. The car radio has turned itself on, and I hear Silent Night. It's been so long since I've heard that song, so it's a welcome tune. I like it. I really like it. The humming is back, and now I hear choppy but threatening voices. I think I should ask them what they think of Margaret's disappearance, but I'm a little hesitant. I wonder what they think about the paper clips? Flies and Olive Oil Ouch. A fly is biting me, and the humming is starting to come back. There's been someone knocking at my front door for a few hours, but I told him that I'd get back to him later. He didn't say much, just that he wants to know if I have any olive oil he can borrow. I'm glad that he's reminding me about that. I ran out of olive oil a few days ago. I just have to make another trip to the store soon, so I can get some more and give a little to the man at my door. I'm telling him right now that I can't get out while he's standing in my way, but I think he understands. He's telling me right this second that as soon as the night is silent that he'll leave. I think he's quite friendly. He would make a good friend. Another fly is trying to bite me, but I'm going to swat it away. My New Friend I was lucky enough to find more olive oil in an old cupboard. I opened up the front door yesterday, and I handed the bottle to my friend. He thanked me with the words, "You've made it silent," and then walked in. He's my friend now, and he says his name is Carmine. Carmine is kind. He's polite too. Right now Carmine is sitting at my kitchen table, drinking from the bottle of olive oil. He followed my paper clip trail to my room with the olive oil in his hand, and when he came back, the olive oil inside was red. He likes his red olive oil. He likes it. The humming is still here, and my TV and radio have been broken for days. I guess it's always been in my head, but it doesn't bother me. Carmine Carmine is my friend. He's a good friend. You're my friend too, voices, so I'll tell you what Carmine looks like. That's the kind of thing friends tell friends. He never shows any more of his face than his mouth. Most of his face is wrapped up in charred black cloth. He wears a neat little trench coat, which I think is also burned up a little. His hands are a neat shade of gray, and his fingers are bony. His pants are like a mummy's bandages, but those are burned too. I can see that he has only one foot, but he doesn't carry a cane. He walks very easily. He doesn't have any teeth, either. "Are you proud that you've made the night silent?" Carmine asks me. I nod and blush. I'm happy that I've made the night silent. I think it's what I've always wanted, and what everyone has always wanted. Now that the night is silent, I can focus on the important sounds I hear. They still sing Silent Night, and I still hear clips of voices and screams, coupled with the humming and static. Carmine is my friend. He's a good friend. The Death Game Sometimes I like to play the death game. I'm standing at the end of a pier, with heavy bricks tied to my legs. Carmine told me that it would be a fun game to play. He still has his red olive oil, too. I hope the death game is fun. I can't breathe, but Carmine is with me. He's swimming next to me, at the bottom of the lake. He's handing me the red olive oil now, and my mind is fading out. I'll take a swig of the olive oil before I fall asleep. It has a slight iron-like taste, and it's thicker than normal olive oil. I like it. Red Olive Oil The death game was really fun. I just woke up on my sofa, with an itching sensation on my leg that the bricks were tied to. I'll pull up my pant leg to see why it's itching. Oh. There are maggots in my leg now. There's red olive oil dripping all over me, and Carmine is lying on the floor with a knife in his chest. The TV and radio still don't work, though. Outside I see the dead trees, the rusting cars, and the gray grass. I wonder when my friends will come back to play with me? I haven't seen any of them, except Carmine and Margaret, since the big cloud appeared in the sky. I feel a little dizzy now, and my heart is pounding. I should check if Margaret is still in the guest room, on the floor. But I think I'll have a quick nap first, and maybe drink some red olive oil. Category:ManraptorHurrr's Content Category:Original Content Category:Horror Category:Abstract Category:Stories